Gratification
by writergirl8
Summary: After the war, all Hermione and Ron want is a nice, quiet life together. With the exception of their enormous family, two loud children, and an extremely adorable terrier named Otter, they get it. This is the story of that gratification.
1. Aubergine

**Prompt: Put a word or phrase in my ask. I'll write you a Romione drabble/one-shot that I think pertains to it.  
From: ****illustrent-stellea-viam-meam on tumblr. ****  
Word: Aubergine (I went with the color, not the plant). **

It's not exactly the first time Ron Weasley has walked home to the sound of loud voices. His wife is a fairly levelheaded parent, but certain things can anger her and get her yelling, an issue that tends to be prevalent in the lives of all mothers. Still, she's more of the quietly angry type than anything else, which is why it's always surprising to come home and hear her yelling. However, whatever has set her off has got to be good. Which is what causes Ron to immediately follow the noise and find the trouble.

Through the door. Past the family pictures on the wall. A quick pet to Otter's head as the tiny terrier yips excitedly at Ron's feet. Up the stairs. And sticks his head into… Rose's room.

Rose.

Shit.

Her head. It is… purple. Her hair is _purple. _Purple. And if he hadn't mentioned it before… purple.

"How could you do this to yourself?" Hermione yells, completely beside herself. "What in the world would possess you to dye your hair aubergine?"

"I TOLD YOU!" Rose shouts back, arms crossed defensively in front of her. "I hate my red hair and wanted a change!"

"Your hair is beautiful, young lady! How dare you suggest anything otherwise? What in the world is wrong with your hair?"

"It's red! Everyone calls me ginger, mum, do you know what it's like to be called _ginger _constantly? I _hate _it."

"But… Rose… it's _aubergine_," Hermione says, as though her daughter had not quite grasped this concept yet.

"It was supposed to come out brown," Rose mumbles, and for the first time she looks slightly ashamed of herself. "It didn't exactly work."

"Oh Rosie," Hermione says finally, sinking onto Rose's bed. At first Rose remains ridged, maintaining her standing position, but then Hermione reaches up and pulls Rose onto the bed as well. Immediately, Rose hides her face into her mother's side. Ron can see a shake in her back and knows that she's started to cry at the embarrassment of dyeing her hair purple. "Rosie, I fell in love with your father because of his hair. I saw him for the first time and thought to myself… _my god, I want my children to have hair that exact color_. And when you came out of me and they put you into my arms and I saw that you had bright red hair, just like daddy's, I actually cried in relief."

"Really?" Rose asks, lifting her head from her mother's shirt.

"Yes. And I think you're absolutely gorgeous. I love everything about you… from your eyes to your freckles to your toes to your hair."

Rose wrinkles her nose.

"You're bias. You're my mum."

Hermione kisses the top of her head.

"And I love you more than anyone, but I still don't think I'm bias. You're just beautiful."

"I'm awkward."

"Love, have you seen pictures of me when I was your age? I was the epitome of awkward. I beat you out for the awkward awards by a landslide. But you know what? During that exact time when I hated myself and my stickish figure and my horrid bushy hair, your father was falling in love with me. And somewhere in the wings is some boy who is going to love you for all the things you hate about yourself and show you just how beautiful you are, just like your father did for me."

"Honestly and truly?" Rose asks hopefully.

"Honestly and truly," Hermione affirms. "And you'll believe him, because he's not your mum."

Rose hesitates before asking,

"Can you fix my hair?"

Ron can see Hermione balk- she's never been all that good at glamour spells, having never had that much need for them. This is when Ron chooses to enter the room.

"Hello, girls," he says, walking in with a big grin on his face.

"Hi, daddy," Rose sniffles, trying to perk up when she sees him.

"Hi, sweetheart," Hermione says, smiling up at him.

"So," Ron begins, crouching down in front of Rosie, "looks like you did something to your hair."

"I tried to make it brown," Rose admits. "But now I wish I hadn't."

"You know who else tried to do something like that when she was younger?"

"Who?"

"Nana Molly."

"_What?"_

"Nana _hated _her red hair, so she decided to dye it brown just like you did. And then she realized how brilliant her hair was, so her mum taught her how to change it back. Unfortunately, your mum isn't quite as brilliant with glamour charms as Nana's mum. But you know who would be able to fix it for you?"

"Nana?" Rose suggests wonderingly.

"And you know who else did the same thing?"

"Who?" asks his daughter eagerly.

"Aunt Ginny."

"NO!" gasps Rose, and then she dissolves into a fit of giggles.

"Oh yeah. Seems to me that all you barmy Weasley ladies have to lose your ginger before realizing how valuable it was to you in the first place, huh?"

"I'll floo Nana and see if she can come patch you up," Hermione says as she stands, beaming gratefully at Ron.

"I'll go see if I can find some ice-cream in the mean while," Ron adds, standing up.

"Thanks, mum. Thanks, daddy."

"Oi, I didn't say it was for you," Ron says with mock indigence, and the sound of Rose's laughter follows them both as they exit the room. As soon as the door's closed, Ron has Hermione swept up in his arms and has already pressed his lips against hers.

"I love you," she murmurs against him. "You were amazing in there."

"Love you too," he smirks. "And… ditto."

She pulls away from his lips to look at his hair, and then winds a strand around her finger.

"Were both those stories true?" she inquires.

"Absolutely," Ron grins. "Us Weasleys are just lucky that so many people in the world have ginger fetishes."

Hermione laughs and kisses him again, but ends up pulling back with a disturbed look on her face.

"Aubergine. _Really_."

**A/N: Well, hello! This is an absolutely plotless set of drabbles about the life that Ron and Hermione had after they got together. It is the gratification that they received for the seven years of craziness at Hogwarts. Every chapter is prompted by readers. All you have to do is give me a word or phrase and I'll write a chapter surrounding it. All phrases or words will be accepted unless they're extremely explicit. To submit a word or phrase, you can find me as whenhermionemetron on tumblr or PM me on . I hope you'll keep reading whenever you need some lovely and fluffy Romione goodness. ~writergirl8**


	2. Light

**From: Anonymous  
Word: Light  
Word Count: 1,381 **

For Hermione, there's something very rewarding about getting to the end of another day, especially now that she has two small children that are constantly in need of her devoted attention. She loves Rose and Hugo to pieces, but that isn't to say that they aren't both a pain in the arse. Because they are. It's hard enough on the weekends when Ron is there to be a husband and father, but on the weekdays when he's at work or on missions it's honestly just downright exhausting. Today was another one of those days, which is the reason why Hermione is so glad it's over. That she's made it through. Every day that she survives life with her gorgeous husband and beautiful children, she's able to reward herself with a little mental check on the calendar.

She does it every night while brushing her teeth- brushing one's teeth is a definitely the symbol for "my day is over and I will now go to bed". That's when she's able to pat herself on the back for all the good work she's done that day. Tonight, as she's doing so, she suddenly notices that one of the lights on the ceiling is flickering in an out. Putting down her toothbrush and spitting out her toothpaste, she meanders into the bedroom to see her husband on the bed reading an Auror report.

"Work away," she says firmly. "It's bedtime."

He puts away the report with very little reluctance.

"Mmmm. Bedtime," he says, stretching his arms over his head and exposing a delightful strip of extremely white skin. "Wait- bedtime or _bedtime_?"

"Just bedtime for tonight, love," Hermione laughs, pulling back the covers and slipping into bed next to her husband. "Rosie accidentally charmed one of your auror reports to read aloud to her again, so I'm afraid she'll be having nightmares."

"Oh, Rose," Ron sighs, pulling Hermione against him and kissing the top of her head. "Well, I never say no to a good cuddle anyways."

"Oh, good, I'll tell Harry. Sometimes he gets lonely when Ginny's off reporting on Quidditch Games and needs someone to snuggle with."

"Ta, Hermione," Ron says sarcastically, eyes following her arse as she stretches over to turn off one of the lamps, something of which she is fully aware.

She smiles in the dark and waits until she's burrowed herself back against him before saying,

"I'm just kidding, love. I'd never loan out your cuddling. You're so good at it that Harry would become addicted and take away my Ron time."

He starts laughing hysterically at this mental imagine, and Hermione is forced to stuff her sleeve into his mouth so as to ensure that he does not wake up the children. At the foot of their bed, Otter barks indignantly.

"Shhhhh!" Hermione says, exasperated. "I can't shut you both up, and we have a sleeping baby!"

Ron breaks off his guffaws, idea of waking up Hugo too intolerable to ignore.

"Sorry, love."

They fall into a sleepy silence, Ron's hand lightly stroking Hermione's back, Hermione's thumb circling the back of her husband's hand.

"By the way," she says suddenly, tired voice breaking through the silence that is lulling them both to sleep, "the light in the bathroom is flickering. Can you fix it?"

"Hermione," Ron groans. "What did I tell you about assigning me chores right before we're about to fall asleep?"

"Sorry, sorry," she apologizes hastily. "I just thought of it and had to say it."

"Well, now I have to go change the bloody light bulb."

"No, you don't have to! Wait until the morning."

"No, because I'll forget and then it'll become this big thing and we'll start bickering and-"

He goes on, but Hermione stops listening because she's too busy being proud of him for maturing to the point that he actually _understands _what she's going on about when she yells at him to get work done. She wants to hug him and kiss him and touch him and praise him about this, but instead she just raises her eyebrows and says,

"Ron, if it's so important that you fix the light bulb tonight, go do it _now _instead of spending the next twenty minutes whining about what would happen if you didn't do it."

There's a pause as he makes an ugly face at her, which she reciprocates by sticking out her tongue. This goes on through several minutes and several faces, until Ron finally huffs,

"_Fine_. But if I'm getting out of bed, you're coming with me."

"No!" Hermione says in protest. "That wasn't part of the deal! I have two children to take care of all day tomorrow."

"And I have bad guys to reprehend for selling illegal drugs that could potentially kill muggles."

Hermione narrows her eyes.

"Just which do you think is more important, Ron Weasley?"

He pauses for a moment to gape at her, then shoves back the covers and pulls them off of her.

"Let's go," he commands. Hermione notices with a shiver that he has just used his Auror voice. She happens to love his Auror voice.

"I hate you," she informs him as she gets out of bed, shivering in the cold.

"Yeah, _that's_ why you married me," he says grumpily.

She starts to laugh, and he turns around to look at her with a happy grin on his face, knowing that he's absolved their row with one grumpy sentence. Somehow, he feels that this moment is the perfect example of their marriage, all in the course of a few moments.

Hermione flicks on the light to the bathroom while Ron finds the step ladder, grabbing it and a spare light bulb from the closet. He spots the one that has been out for about a month now (it really has been driving Hermione crazy- she's annoying OCD about these things) and sets up the ladder underneath it. Meanwhile, Hermione sits on the counter to watch him play the role of Mr. Fixit. She closes her eyes for a moment, leaning against the mirror, and yawns hugely. When she opens her eyes to check on her husband's process, she realizes that all she can really see of him is his plaid clad arse, which is right in front of her eye line. Grinning like the cat that got the cream, she crosses her legs, fixes her eyes on his bum, and just stares at it unblushingly, knowing that there's nobody there to stop her.

"Hermione, can you grab that… what are you doing?"

Right. Except for the owner of that arse.

No, scratch that, _she'_s the owner of that arse. It just belongs on Ron's body.

"Staring at your bum," she mutters under her breath.

"What was that?" Ron asks in a sing-song voice.

"Nothing, honey!" Hermione replies, smiling winningly up at him.

"I think you were staring at my keister."

"Can't a woman stare at her husband's butt in peace?" Hermione inquires, tone exasperated.

"Go right ahead, Mrs. Weasley," Ron smirks, turning back to finish fixing the light bulb.

As they sit there in the bathroom in the middle of the night, Hermione suddenly becomes conscious of how much she adores this moment. The bathroom is quiet. The bathroom is peaceful. There are no screaming children in the bathroom, there is no hyperactive dog. It's just the two of them in their home, in their bathroom that is off to the side of their bedroom. Theirs. They don't even need to talk in the bathroom, because it's late and it's night and, besides, sometimes it's easier not to talk than to talk. Sometimes one can say more.

Her husband finishes fixing the light bulb far too quickly for Hermione's liking. She reluctantly hops off of the counter and ambles tiredly into the bed, pulling the covers back over her body. Ron follows suit soon afterwards, wrapping his body tenderly around her as he kisses her shoulder. It seems to wake her up a little bit.

"Ron," she starts tentatively, "I think it's bedtime."

"Mhhhmmm. Bedtime," he agrees. Then his eyes pop open. "Wait- bedtime or _bedtime_?"

"_Bedtime_," Hermione tells him, and he lets out a quiet cheer before shucking his pajama bottoms off under the covers.


	3. Difficult

**From: mydogisawesome  
Word: Difficult  
Word Count: 1,704**

Her heart breaks every time she stares down at that baby's face. His beautiful, innocent face, lined with soft baby skin, so pink and perfect. Her stomach clenches whenever he sucks on her finger, those tiny red lips wrapping around it as his own fingers clutch at her larger one, desperate to maintain the connection. And it hurts the most when he opens his eyes and they are blue, so blue, the bluest of all blues.

Because she doesn't think she loves him.

She can't love him. It's his fault, after all. It's his entire fault that the whole world has turned gray, that everything seems darker, that her entire life has changed in one second. Like a snap. Like an uncomplicated spell that she would cast when she was a simple eleven year old girl, when she didn't have two children to take care of and love.

She can't love this boy, and she feels so guilty. She should love him. But he's the last one. His eyes will never be replicated in another baby. His firsts will never be the firsts of another child. He feels like an end, an end that wasn't supposed to come so soon, and she had no control over the fact that it did.

There's a tiny, logical part of Hermione that knows it wasn't Hugo's fault. Women who have been tortured to the degree that she was tortured always have certain amounts of trouble having babies. Really, she's lucky that she even had Rose and Hugo at all. The logical part of Hermione that knows this, however, has been locked into another part of her brain and shunted to the side by this monstrous woman that she has become. The woman who is unable to love her own child.

It's not that she hasn't tried. She sits at his crib every day and stares down at him for hours, not picking him up, just staring. It's a worthless attempt to get her heart to feel anything other than pain when she looks down at her child, and the way that she handles him is so cowardly that she wants to slap herself.

Hermione had not been like this with Rose. Rose was the easiest baby to love, so full of life and laughter and happiness. She thinks that Hugo might have that too, but she hasn't noticed. She has, on the other hand, noticed that the last baby she will ever have has brown hair, not read. In that respect, she feels as though Hugo has let her down. Why couldn't both of her children have red hair?

She knows there's something wrong with her. A mother shouldn't so easily be able to identify her favorite child. A mother should not know which child she would save if a building was burning down. A mother should not feel depressed every single time she looks down at her two week old baby. A mother should not feel overwhelmed whenever her baby cries- this is another problem that she never had with Rose.

Sometimes she just sits by his cradle and loathes herself and waits for Rose to cry so that she can leave her silent vigil. She feels like she's in mourning for a future that was supposed to be and a future that never will be. Hermione is grieving the loss of something that she never had, and in so many ways, it is the most ridiculous thing she has ever done.

This is hard. This is so hard. This is so much harder than fighting Voldemort, than being tortured, than _anything _she's ever experienced in her entire life, because she doesn't understand herself. She doesn't know why she has given up. She doesn't know why she can't just accept the cards that the world has dealt to her, accept her baby boy. She was given him, after all. Him and Rose. They are hers, and for that she is still eternally grateful, in spite of what is happening to her right now.

Her fingers run across the wood of the crib, her mind buzzes, and she stares unfailingly down at the baby's sleeping face. One of the fingers slips from the wood and onto his cheek, and she feels the soft skin there, the flawlessness that only an untainted child could have. She knows it's not his fault. She knows, she knows. But she was holding him when they told her. Told her exactly what the complications meant, the complications that had arose when she was giving birth to him. The complications that had gotten Ron kicked out of the room, and she had never felt more alone than that moment, in spite of the fact that she was surrounded by St. Mungo's staff. She didn't think she would ever forget the frightened look on Ron's face as they escorted him out of the room, and she hadn't realized, hadn't even imagined, that there could be love in that look, too. That the magnitude of what he felt for her hit her so powerfully in that moment, and she remembers lying there with tears running down her face and thinking that if they got through this unscathed, she would do this a thousand times over to make him love her even more.

But now she will never have another child. She will never see the look on Ron's face as he sees their baby for the first time. There are no more genes to be mixed together, no need to move into a bigger home, no middle children. She _hates _that.

Cool hands slip around Hermione's shoulders, resting on her collarbone as Ron kisses the top of her head from behind.

"Hi," he says simply. Lately, there haven't been many pet names or endearments. After Rose had been born, all they had wanted to do was have enough time and energy to make love, to celebrate the being that they had brought into the universe. In the past two weeks, though, Hermione hasn't been much for cuddling, never mind sex.

"Hello," she replies quietly. "How was work?"

"It was okay," he says. "I took the liberty of turning on the light for you. Thought you might want to see Hugo."

"Thanks," she mutters.

Ron walks over to the crib, picking up the baby in his large hands. Hugo seems unusually tiny tonight, so weak and feeble in spite of his beauty. He's still Ron's, and that's something.

"Hi, Hugh," Ron whispers. "And how was your day?"

He wakes up at the movement of being lifted into his daddy's arms, and Hermione is unsurprised to see that he doesn't start crying. Hugo doesn't cry nearly as much as Rose did when she was his age, and Hermione wonders whether this will change. Whether the baby senses her unhappiness and it reflects in his ability to behave.

She wants to go to Rose's room, to bury her face in the soft skin and beautiful ginger hair, but seeing Ron with his baby boy brings warmth to her stomach for the first time in days, and she can't bring herself to let that go. She watches him talk to Hugo, watches him coo over the baby, watches him smile and love and be a father. She does this for several minutes before finally saying what she needs to say.

"Ron," she manages to croak out. "Ron, I think there's something wrong with me." His expression slinks from happy to startled as he stares at her, eyes frozen on her vulnerable face. "You… you know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Yes," he whispers, and his own voice spurs him into action. After dropping a quick kiss onto Hugo's head, he lowers the baby into the cradle, then straightens and says with his back to his wife, "You don't hold him. Not like you did with Rose."

"I know," she responds, and her voice seems to crack under the strain of not crying. She is still so angry, at herself and at the world.

He turns around, and although she'd expected to see a man looking at a monster in the expression on his face, all she can see is a husband who wants to protect his wife. He walks over to her, and then tentatively kneels on the floor, placing his hands on her thighs.

"You've just had your future taken away from you. All of the things that you hoped for and dreamed for and planned."

"I know I did," she sighs, eyes on the floor. "I can't stop thinking about it."

"Hermione, you're depressed, love."

"I know."

"And I think that you have every right to it."

She looks up.

"Do you?"

"Yes, I do. But, Hermione, that doesn't mean you should be frightened of our baby. It's not Hugo's fault."

"I know," she moans, burying her head in her hands. "I know, Ron. But I _can't_… I don't know why… I can't… connect. Not like I did with Rose. God, I'm so _frustrated _and I just hate myself and I don't _understand _any of it!"

"It's been two weeks, and you've had a shock. Hermione. I know it's difficult, but we're going to fix you, okay? Give it time. And then you're going to learn how to forgive yourself. I promise."

"Really?"

"Really. In fact, let's start now."

He walks over to the crib and picks up Hugo, then tenderly places the baby in Hermione's waiting arms. Ron slowly slips behind Hermione and puts his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"This is Hugo. He's our baby. He has your hair and my eyes and he's quiet and observant and he loves you and you love him, even though it's buried underneath miles of hurt."

"I'm going to be a mother again. I am," Hermione says resolutely, touching Hugo's cheek.

"I know you are," he tells her. "After all, you _are _a Weasley."

She wants to laugh, but can't bring herself to do it.

"Weasleys love fiercely," she agrees.

"As I love you," he reminds her quietly.

And with that, she knows that, no matter how difficult, everything is going to be alright. In the end, everything is going to be just fine.

**A/N: I know that this chapter may be difficult to read for some people, but when I got the prompt, this is what I chose to write. I myself was shocked when this story, which was supposed to be very fluffy, got **_**this **_**chapter, but alas, it happened. I have always pictured something like this happening when Hermione realized that she and Ron could not have any more children. I always thought that it was a product of her torture, why they only had two when they loved each other so much, and when he came from such a big family. If you do not agree, I completely understand. Thank you for reading the chapter- it is as dark as this story will ever get. ~writergirl8**


	4. Boyfriend

**Prompt: **Boyfriend  
**From: **ilovemusicforever  
**Word Count: **2,845

Sometimes he thinks that Rose always forgets that she's his little girl, no matter how many times he points it out to her.

Like on the day that she decided that she wanted to learn more about putting on makeup. She had approached Hermione with two million questions and an eye pencil after dinner one night, while Ron was in the other room washing the dishes and Hugo was taking Otter for his nightly walk. Hermione, having never really paid much attention to makeup, took one look at the pencil and calmly suggested that Rose go visit Aunt Ginny with this question. Ron, for his part, had always wondered how Hermione could be so calm in a situation such as this. He remembers, to this day, charging at Hermione after Rose had left and demanding to know how she could be so nonchalant about Rose wanting to put on makeup. Hermione had told him that he was over reacting and, after a bit of soul searching, Ron realized for the first time how terrified he was of Rosie growing up.

Okay. Maybe it hadn't been the first time. Maybe he had known it for a long time, and he merely had needed it to be affirmed again. Either way, it wasn't any easier to watch the girl that had once been a squirming baby evolve into a little adult right before his eyes.

This is the same situation.

The first time he had heard of Rose's new boyfriend had been accidentally. The weather had been deceptively nice, and at first he had looked upon this as a blessing. After all, a nice day meant Quidditch with Harry, George, and Bill. Ever since their children had gone to school, all of them had been at a loss for things to do on Saturdays, so their wives had teamed up and solved their problem. While Ginny, Fleur, Angelina, and Hermione sat below them, the boys would play a rousing game of two-a-side Quidditch. Never mind the fact that they were all middle aged men.

For weeks after the event had transpired, Ron had wished that he had never decided to say Quidditch, because then he wouldn't have become thirsty, and _then _he wouldn't have had to land. To be fair, it was probably a bad idea to land behind the woman, but he had been eager to avoid getting sucked into their boring conversations about periods or shopping or whatever the hell birds chatted about when they were together. But as he had stealthily tiptoed towards the tea and biscuits, hoping to snag some lemonade and be gone as quickly as possible, he had heard the words that he hadn't even realized he had been dreading.

"Rose has her first boyfriend."

Hermione didn't state this fact like it was earth shattering. As a matter of fact, she hadn't sounded particularly upset at all. The ladies around her squealed, as though they were not aware of Rose's innocence being crushed into smithereens as they spoke.

"How do you know?" Ginny had asked excitedly.

"She sent me a separate letter. Poor dear was too embarrassed to let her father know. I think she's afraid of his reaction."

_Damn straight she should be_, Ron had thought, feeling particularly murderous. The bright blue sky seemed to taunt him. It was as deceptive as the boy who would inevitably break his daughter's heart.

"Oh, you're so lucky!" Ginny sighed enviously. "My boys won't tell me a thing."

"Neither will Fred," Angelina had interjected.

"Victoire tells me everything, but not so much with Dominique," Fleur had stated. "Children are funny that way."

And then they had launched into some completely useless discussion regarding recent studies about what bits of parenting would make children grow up into more tolerable teenagers and Ron had decided to fly away on his broomstick and make the muscles in his arm stronger so that he'd have more fun bringing pain down upon the puny pipsqueak that had dared to make advances towards Rose.

Now, as Ron stands waiting on the platform, he decides that his fury back then is nothing in comparison to how he feels when he's about to lay eyes on the prick. Hermione is next to him, her hand on his arm, radiating calm towards him. It _isn't _going to work. He can tell that she's remaining especially relaxed to balance out his rage, but it's not like that's going to make him less pissed off at the universe for forcing his daughter to get a boyfriend.

"I know what you're doing," he mutters to his wife, teeth clenched.

"I'm not doing anything," Hermione murmurs serenely. "And need I remind you- neither is Jeff."

"What does _Jeff _have to do with this?" Ron spits out under his breath. Hermione doesn't answer, and a glance towards her shows that she's struggling not to laugh.

"You're wound up because Rose said she would introduce us to him."

"I am not!" Ron responds petulantly.

"If you think you can fool me, take your age and then subtract eleven from it. That's how long we've known each other," Hermione smirks. "Come on, sweetheart. You're kidding yourself."

"Okay, point taken," grumbles Ron.

"He's just a boy," Hermione says soothingly. "He hasn't done anything except fancy your daughter."

"I know what fifteen year old boys are after, Hermione. I was a fifteen year old boy once. The only thing I thought about for the entirety of fourth year was getting into your knickers."

"What a lovely sentiment. I'm so glad we got married."

"I'm serious, Hermione! It wasn't about your personality at that point; it was basically all about your tits."

"Well, that's very sweet, considering that I barely had any when I was fifteen."

"This wanker is going to be thinking the same way about Rose," he says insistently in her ear.

Hermione doesn't look at him, instead choosing to eye the platform, trying to see over the heads of the students starting to file off of the train.

"Either way, dear, if we ended up married, so could they. With that in mind, I would be on my best behavior today."

"She said she wanted to marry him?" Ron yelps.

"No, I said… oh, you really are impossible," Hermione sighs, leaning up on her tiptoes to chastely kiss him.

"Um, mum? Dad?"

Hermione pulls back immediately, smiling as she sees her daughter.

"Hi, darling!" she says, rushing forward to embrace Rose. Rose hugs her mother back tightly, but her eyes are on her father, who has his eyes on the git that is standing awkwardly behind his firstborn child. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine," says Rose, still eying her father warily. Her gaze instructs him to stay on his best behavior. In response, he puffs out his chest importantly. "Mum, dad… this is Jeff."

"Lovely to meet you," Hermione says pleasantly, reaching out to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley," Jeff says in return, sticking out his own hand shakily. "And Mr. Weasley."

Ron gives him a firm handshake, glaring at Jeff down his long nose. Hermione looks like she's going to burst out laughing, while Rose's eyes are so wide that she would give Luna Lovegood a run for her money. Meanwhile, Jeff seems to swallow nervously as he extracts his hand and wipes it on his trousers.

"Jeff, what House are you in?" Hermione inquires. Her voice is gentle, as though he's an animal that might run away at loud noises.

"Er- Grffindor," Jeff tells her, his eyes still on Ron.

The three of them stand there in an awkward silence until Hugo's arrival.

"Mum! Dad! Hi!" he chatters happily. He drops his owl cage and gives the two of them tight hugs. "Can I have a sleepover with Robert?"

"Oi! You just got home for the summer. What about us?" Ron asks indignantly.

"Oh. Yes. You're nice," Hugo replies, pushing his glasses up his nose innocently. "Robert stole his brother's left over sixth year potions kit, though, so we're gonna try to make… um… a potion."

"What potion, exactly?" Hermione questions, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Um… er… oh look! Rosie has a boyfriend!"

"Little late on that, love, your father already knows."

"Rats. Well, can I go anyways?"

"We'll talk about this at home," Hermione says, and Ron picks up Hugo's trunk and puts it on the cart. "Jeff, it was lovely to meet you. I hope you'll come over for tea sometime."

Ron glares at her.

"Bye, Jeff," Rose says. Jeff goes in for a kiss, but, with a frightened glance at Ron, hugs her instead. Ron looks extremely satisfied with himself, causing his wife to snort.

The small family starts to head to the car, with Ron swirling the keys agitatedly in his trouser pocket.

"Ron, why don't you let me drive home?" Hermione prods. He hands her the keys wordlessly.

They reach the car after a fairly silent walk, the only sounds coming from Rose shoving Hugo away from her once or twice when he had accidentally walked into her. Hermione gets into the driver's seat while Ron puts the trunks in the engorged back of the car, the tips of his ears still slightly red. He gets into the car next to her and tries to ignore the knowing smile that is on her lips.

Rose climbs into the car, dragging Hugo behind her. He lets her, looking slightly frightened by her aggression. Rose had honestly gotten the worst of both Ron and Hermione's tempers, while neither of them had any idea where Hugo's temperament came from. You could poke him with a stick and all he would do was stare at you dolefully.

They ride in the same silence as before, but it's so different from what their car rides usually are like. Ron's mood is so evident in his countenance that both children are afraid of saying anything that might set him off.

"How was your year, you two?" Hermione asks from the driver's seat.

"Good," they chorus. She waits for the competition to start over who had a more successful year, but neither child ventures an elaboration. Hermione gives Ron a sideways glare, but he just shrugs as though it isn't his fault.

A proper distraction is provided when Rose starts to yell at Hugo for breathing wrong, so Hermione takes her chance.

"You're going to be in so much trouble later," she whispers to him. "I hope you know that."

He wants to reply, but the argument stops, so all he can do is stare at her with puppy dog eyes and hope that it works, even though it probably won't. Ever since their children had been born, Ron's puppy dog eyes don't work on Hermione unless she is really randy and is finding him more attractive than usual.

She rolls her eyes at his stare. No dice.

They pull into their driveway and the two children rush out of the car to find Otter and smother him.

"We really should have warned Otter about the incoming onslaught," Ron comments as he tugs the trunks out.

"Mmm," Hermione hums in agreement.

"Oh, come on, you're mad at me for _this_?"

Hermione turns to him, looking surprised. She places a hand on her heart.

"I didn't say anything."

"That's exactly the point, Hermione!"

"Oh, husband, I could never point out your wrongdoings to you. Everything you do is absolutely correct and I exist merely to cook your dinner and raise your children."

Ron closes the trunk hard.

"You really need to stop watching _The Donna Reed Show _when you visit your mum."

Hermione pulls a face.

"Okay, point taken. Just… apologize to your daughter, please?"

"About what?" Ron requests.

"You know."

"I don't know!"

"Maybe you'll know after a few days without sex."

It's an empty threat, as they both know that she can barely hold out longer that he can, but the fact that she's using it shows how important it is to her. He sighs and bends down a bit to kiss the top of her nose.

"I'll talk to her."

"Good. Now I'm off to cook your dinner and raise your children," she says stoutly, walking backwards towards the house.

Ron salutes her.

"And a mighty fine job you're doing, at that."

He finds Rosie sitting on the swing in the backyard and rocking gently to the sound of some music wafting from the tip of her wand.

"Underage magic!" Ron gasps mockingly, pointing to Rose's wand and causing Rose to laugh.

"You know as well as I do that they can't tell who the magic is coming from, only where it is. It's not like we live in a muggle community."

Ron sits down next to her, landing on the swing with as little grace as a person could possibly muster.

"You're too smart for me, Rosie," he tells her. "You win again."

"Like with wizard's chess," Rose says smugly.

Ron looks affronted.

"Hey! I beat you way more than you beat me."

"Yes, but it's the losses that haunt you at night, isn't it?" Rose smirks.

"I raised you to be just like me. Oh god, your mum is going to kill me."

Rose pats his arm comfortingly.

"To be fair, she married you in spite of your outwardly competitive nature. She had to know that at least one of your children was going to be nearly as insane about it as you."

"I think she was hoping it would be Hugo."

Rose snorts.

"Yeah, it's probably more graceful on a boy."

"Definitely."

"Okay, so our family defies gender stereotypes. Go us."

"Hey Rose?" Ron says, cutting her off. "I'm sorry if I was rude to your boyfriend."

Rose looks startled.

"You are?"

"Well, mostly I'm sorry because mum is mad at me about it. But I'm also sorry because I love you and I want you to be happy, even if it means hanging around with a tosspot during your Hogwarts days."

"He's not a tosspot," Rose says defensively. "Do you honestly think so little of me that I would date a tosspot?"

"Well, often boys are hidden tosspots. They don't seem like tosspots at first, but then they reveal their tosspot nature and… I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm certainly going to get hurt," Rose points out. "That's just a fact of life. But I know that when I do, I have a wonderful father, fantastic Uncles, and several phenomenal cousins to help me beat him up through my tears. And you gave me all that. So even when you're being nice to my boyfriend, I know that you'll protect me in the end. But it's not the end yet, dad. Don't jump the shark."

"Fair enough," Ron agrees.

"I love you, daddy," Rose says quietly, leaning over to hug him. "And now you'd better go tell mom that I forgive you, because I totally heard her tell Hugo that she isn't going to make dessert tonight."

"Shit," Ron swears, leaping off of the chair and catapulting himself inside for the amusement of his daughter.

Hermione is in the kitchen, humming softly along to the radio. Ron hops onto the counter next to the stove and gives her his most winning grin.

"Our daughter doesn't hate me anymore."

"Mmm. I didn't think she would for very long."

"You're always right."

"I know. And I enjoy that immensely."

She's smirking, so Ron decides to take her down a peg by reaching into the pot and grabbing a piece of sausage. Hermione slaps his hand away. He manages to eat it anyways.

"Sorry, love," he grins.

She shakes her head, but she really doesn't seem that upset. There's something relaxing about having the kids home from school. Life is about to get far more hectic, but after going several months without being a family, the idea of having two more places to set at the table thrills both of them.

"Ron, did you even take a look at that boy?"

"What boy?"

"Jeff, you loveable idiot."

"Oh. I guess. I don't know. Why?"

"Tall. Gangly. Pale. Freckled. Remind you of anyone?"

Ron looks nonplussed.

"Um… no?"

"He's basically a brunet version of you, honey. Your daughter loves you so much that she looked for a boyfriend with similar qualities to her father."

"That is both untrue and very strange."

"Scientific studies show that girls go for boys like their fathers and boys go for girls like their mothers."

"Good luck to Hugo," Ron huffs. "Finding a woman like his mother is going to be harder than he thinks."

"Well, Rose will be lucky if she finds a man half as wonderful as her father," Hermione says lovingly.

"Wait, does this mean that the sex ban is lifted?" In response, Hermione walks over to the fridge and pulls out two bowls of chocolate pudding. "Are those for dessert?"

Ron gazes at her hopefully, causing Hermione to give him a mischievous grin.

"Well, one of them is."


End file.
